


To Share and To Hold

by Chromi



Series: Deuce-centric [9]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Cuckolding, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Gangbang, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Introspection, M/M, Manhandling, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Object Insertion, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Subspace, The Author Regrets Nothing, Threesome - M/M/M, Topping from the Bottom, Vaginal Fingering, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22976827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromi/pseuds/Chromi
Summary: “Think of this as less of a gangbang and more of a sex roulette sorta deal,” Skull said as he reared back, “we’re all here to focus on you, pal. Hell, we even agreed our order already, in case you hadn’t noticed.”Ace offers his boyfriend Deuce the chance to learn something new from several members of the crew.
Relationships: Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Masked Deuce, Masked Deuce/Other(s), Masked Deuce/Portgas D. Ace
Series: Deuce-centric [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576678
Comments: 14
Kudos: 71





	To Share and To Hold

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [That's the Kind of Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21885853) by [Irrelevancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrelevancy/pseuds/Irrelevancy). 



> This was started back in December after being... _encouraged_ heavily by the lovely [Irrelevancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrelevancy/pseuds/Irrelevancy) and then egged tf on by the other Soggies for the last two months. It's taken so long because A) I kept getting distracted by other things, and B) _it's so fucking long. How did it get this long. HOW._
> 
> If you finish this, you are a gem and I love you.

“We can stop this at any time you want. You know that, right? Just say the magic word, and everyone will back off.”

Comfort – that’s what Ace is trying to give him. His last chance to stop this before it kicks off, before he is touched and pulled by so many who are categorically _not_ Ace. A way out before he embarks on something hitherto unthinkable, that which he had only ever drunkenly joked about, mouthed to the neck of his partner and forgotten by morning.

Ace didn’t forget. Ace remembered, and he planned, and he drew from drunken laughter a conclusion that Deuce had never given himself the chance to embrace.

“Everyone who agreed cares about you.” A tender touch to his cheek; a hand resting to his knee to reassure, attempt to dampen the nerves that threaten to make him _laugh_ , of all things, fuelled by a restlessness he was not sure he could ever throw off. “I only mentioned this to people who I think – hope – you’ll be comfortable with.”

“H-How many?” God, should that be the first question to come to mind? Shouldn’t he be more concerned about things such as _they will judge me for this_ and _what do I do if they change their minds?_

But no one could ever possibly judge Deuce like he judged himself. The disgust that had stared back at him in the mirror of the lavish bathroom in the hotel room he and Ace had booked together had said it all. _No one wants you. Ace is an exception. Ace is wrong. He sees what he wants to see; takes what he believes he has a right to. They will mock you, laugh at you._ His reflection had sneered, repulsed. _Good luck to those who try to change your mind._

“More than you think.”

Was he so transparent? He felt himself flush under Ace’s palm turning him toward a kiss. A soft sound slipped from him, eager to reciprocate what he knew, what he loved without question, even if he didn’t deserve it. The sun should shine for all, not just for him, after all. It should have been Ace, of all people, to be the center of tonight’s focus, the one to be loved to their limits and promised pleasure of the kinds they could only dream of.

“Which means…”

“Seven, including me.”

His breath caught sharp in his chest; he willed his hands not to shake in his lap. “ _Seven_ people?” Deuce repeated, leaning back slightly when Ace tried to kiss him again in an obvious attempt to distract, “who? Who could even _want_ to—”

Another kiss successfully landed, silencing him, drawing him in by the back of his neck to delve deep and languid. This whole thing made no sense whatsoever. Who, outside of Ace, could have ever looked at _him_ , of all people, like that?

“Don’t think about it too hard,” Ace breathed against his lips, forehead warm to Deuce’s own, “you won’t find the answer you’re looking for.” Whatever that meant. “It kills me to share you,” Ace continued, pressing a length of silk – a blindfold – to Deuce’s palm along with two lurid yellow ear buds, “it really does. But I think this will help you. And I can’t pretend that the thought of watching you getting fucked isn’t _incredibly_ hot.”

The blindfold and buds were dropped, falling to the floor from the soft white linen of the hotel room bed. A spectacular piece of furniture, well outside their usual budget that could barely cover some cheap inn opposite a bar or brothel, generally, but Deuce suspected that the cost had been covered by more than just Ace’s meagre scraps in his wallet this time.

“I want to see,” Deuce clarified, wiping the confusion from his partner’s face, “I want to know.” _I want to know who is crazy enough to go along with this_. “And I’m not like them – I’ve never— you’re the only person I’ve ever—”

A finger to his lips silenced him, and calm seemed to erupt from Ace’s warm touch. “They don’t know that,” he soothed, gentle, “and if it becomes too much, just say the word. I’ll be in the room the whole time. They won’t hurt you, obviously, but I’ll be right here to keep you safe. You remember the safe word, just in case?”

He nodded; nervous excitement suddenly bubbled within Deuce without warning, hot and thick like boiling asphalt, liquidising his insides and turning all thought to smoke and steam. They were on the other side of the door, Ace had said earlier, all ready and eager, if he were to be believed. And why _wouldn’t_ Deuce believe him? Where Deuce had never had the ability to believe in himself, he had found that in Ace instead. That heedless need to _give_ everything that he was and would be, to foist onto Ace all of his devotion and absolute trust, that Ace had accepted without challenge. Accepted and nurtured into something that Deuce would gladly give his life for.

Something that they could very well be about to shatter, if they weren’t careful.

“And…” Deuce bit his lip to hold in the penultimate question – the one that had burned through his every waking thought since they had bought the damn thing, “and what about…” A pill, nestled in the palm of Ace’s hand when he drew it from his pocket, reading his boyfriend with that familiar, calming clarity that always shone through behind his eyes. A pill that they had purchased out of sheer curiosity, both intrigued and excited and more than a little restless to try it. _For a special occasion_ , Deuce had argued when Ace had broached the subject of swallowing the thing mere hours after buying it. Well, if now wasn’t a special occasion, then when was?

A simple aphrodisiac; one so potent, the oily-voiced shopkeeper had leered with a mouth full of glittering teeth, that it was certain to set the consumer _alight_ with sexual desire.

 _It’ll turn you into a feral beast,_ he had said, staring hungrily between the two skeptical (and terribly excited) young men. _Take this, and you won’t know yourself. Take this, and every touch to your skin will shake you to your core. You will lose yourself to every minute sensation that graces your skin. Every orgasm you have will be mind-shattering, euphoric, enough to make the gods tremble with lustful envy!_

(They had bought it. Just the one, the cost being every bit as astronomical as the promised climaxes.)

“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to,” Ace reminded gently, piercing silver catching to tug at soft walnut, “we can save it for another time.”

But he wanted to try. He wanted to _allow_ himself to admit to wanting this as badly as he had vaguely started to register, the desire buried and suffocating beneath years of being forced to _behave as I say_ and _not to disappoint_. To be as free as Ace in this regard – to take the risk, to _dare_ to snatch whatever it was that he craved and make it his own. To be owned by pleasure rather than running terrified from it.

_To give oneself over to sexual satisfaction in its entirety, if only for a night._

Heart fluttering in his chest, Deuce poked his tongue out in invitation, in that careless, easy submission that was always so happily reserved for Ace, and Ace alone. Or rather, he thought with a single, exhilarated sigh as Ace leaned in, for _others_ this time as well. Just for the one night.

“Are you _sure?”_ Ace asked quietly, so close that Deuce could feel the excited heat pouring from him, “because if you change your mind after you swallow it, we can’t undo it. I don’t think Marco will be able to heal it out of your system either, since you technically won’t be injured or sick. So you have to be certain.”

Deuce could only nod, waiting patiently for Ace to deliver. Tonight was a night for _learning_ , had Ace not stressed? Tonight was about Deuce, and the bonds that held him strung so tight, rigid and tense, and so very afraid of truly letting _go_.

_So, let me learn._

The pill was placed to the tip of Ace’s tongue and delivered to Deuce’s through a kiss so deep it pushed the aphrodisiac to the back of his mouth, instigating his swallow reflex before he had little chance to even register that Ace was pressed warm against him. Deuce swallowed around Ace’s tongue wet to his own, going lightheaded to the very, _very_ present realisation of what he had done slapped starkly to his awareness, and what he had to expect now.

Would it work? Was it perhaps just a sugar pill? Had he just taken something toxic that was going to rip his stomach to shreds before destroying the rest of him? What would he do if it _did_ work as advertised, and he ended up desperately hard for days on end? They _really_ should have thought about this a little more, maybe researched the shop with Haruta’s help.

But on some perverse, truly _hideous_ level of self-acceptance that Deuce wasn’t fully ready to tackle, he knew that all of these possibilities only heightened the thrill that coursed through him.

_How primitive._

“Ace,” Deuce said quietly, standing when coaxed by the hand, bare and flushed following being carefully cleaned and prepped by the man he had once called Captain, “will we be all right after this? Will anything change?” The same questions that had been voiced many times over the last week, always receiving the same answer despite the ever-growing anxiety surrounding them.

His face was tilted down – a kiss was pressed to his forehead, to each cheek, to his nose, and Ace replied, “it’s just sex. You’re just learning what it’s like to be with other people. Nothing’s going to change between us – you have my word. Just enjoy yourself.”

And that was all he needed for now.

“Are you ready for this?”

He nodded.

Ace moved away to open the door.

* * *

It was Thatch who fell upon him first, guiding Deuce with rough hands squeezing his hips to lay back down on the bed. There was no preamble to his movements, none of his usual jovial tone or playful grin that Deuce had seen flashed so many times across the kitchen, the deck. His knees were parted the instant he instinctively slammed them shut to hide his nudity, callouses dragging to scratch over sensitive skin and draw out a surprised gasp.

Thatch’s shirt was thrown off behind him, wasting no time in his apparent mission to lave attention to every part of Deuce’s body. He simply touched, stroking skittering fingertips over jumping abdominal muscles to come to palm at Deuce’s chest without the slightest suggestion of hesitation.

“Look at you,” Thatch purred, rolling his hips against Deuce’s, the material of his pants rubbing rough over Deuce’s hardening cock, “laid out like a fine meal for me.”

More hands – a hairy pair he recognised, a slender pair he didn’t – joined in, the bed dipping behind his head with the combined weight of two. It was Skull and one of the nurses – Sonya, the head nurse with the long, tumbling blonde hair – Deuce was surprised to see. Sonya’s soft hands provided such a contrast with Thatch’s and Skull’s own weapons-roughed pairs that Deuce squirmed under her touch at his nipples. She flicked at them, tweaked them, then lowered her face to his left to suck between her teeth. With a gasp, Deuce made to fist at her hair – to do what, he had no real idea – but Skull’s grip was on his wrists instantly, holding him down and open.

 _They can see me_ , was Deuce’s first fully coherent thought, pinned to the bed between Skull at his head and Thatch between his legs. _They can see everything_. No one, bar Ace, had ever seen him like this before – showers didn’t count; there was nothing sexy about _those_. No, this was _different_ , and suddenly extremely overwhelming, and Deuce’s almost instinctual reaction to curl up and hide had to be stamped down as low as he could squash it. This was something he wanted to overcome – _enjoy_.

Well, he was getting that wish, all right.

Two thick fingers breached him without warning, raising a hot, gasping sound that caught in Deuce’s throat; Thatch was knuckle-deep in one motion, already curling to locate his prostate.

“Ah, that’s a nice reaction,” Thatch praised, pumping his fingers steadily, carefully, watching Deuce’s reaction for signs of discomfort, he could only assume, “did Ace finger you before we all piled in? You’re so _wet_ back here.” Thatch barked a laugh at Deuce’s dazed nod.

 _He had another man’s fingers inside him_. Not Ace’s. Not his own. Foreign and completely unknown, wasting no time in scissoring to stretch him out, Thatch’s other palm soothing over the inside of his thigh the moment Deuce whimpered at the enormity of the situation. Sonya’s hands returned to petting his chest, raising her face to instead mouth hot, sloppy kisses to the side of Deuce’s neck. They had barely begun and he was already drowning, it felt like, senses overloaded, brain reeling with the sheer amount of attention on him right now. Those long, painted nails curled to encircle Deuce’s cock and give him a testing stroke, and suddenly his spine seemed to dissolve into white-hot lava.

Everything felt hot, and wet, and _so loud_. The slick noises of Thatch’s fingers being withdrawn were made by _him_. Sonya’s soft sighs and sucking kisses under his ear were for _him_. Hell, even the way Skull shifted in apparent discomfort, erection poking a tent in his pants above Deuce’s head, was a direct response to watching his previous boss get finger-fucked.

Deuce had never felt more vulnerable – more keenly, intimately _exposed_ – than he did right now, effectively stoppering all possible thoughts of taking a proactive role in this—this— _sex party_. For the time being, at the very least.

But it was Thatch, someone he _liked_ , who was nudging their lube-slicked cock to his stretched hole. It was Thatch, his friend, who was breaching him with a groan, filling him deeper and stretching him wider than Ace could ever achieve, his girth leaving Deuce breathless and slack-jawed. He had wanted this – _still_ wanted this – and yes, there was Ace, sitting on the couch at the other end of the room beside— Deuce’s breath stuttered in his throat, chest feeling like it had gone into spasm. _Marco_ was here – Marco, his medical mentor, of all people, had come queuing up to indulge in fucking him senseless.

His vulnerability noted, Sonya lifted her face to turn Deuce’s toward her and kiss him deep, searching, unknowingly claiming his first kiss with a woman.

Oh, how they would laugh if they knew.

His back arched away from the bed, a strangled, helpless noise swallowed by the blonde nurse, when Thatch began to move. Those rough hands were back again, gripping under his knees to hoist him higher, pull him open, and _pound_.

Every nerve within him _sang_ with the pace that Thatch set – Deuce writhed on the bed with a shout of what he hoped came out as pleasure, that delicious fizzing sensation of glorious _ecstasy_ spreading through his body with each slap of Thatch’s hips. He barely noticed when Sonya pulled away, sliding off the bed to – oh, _really? –_ to join another of the nurses, Anna, a woman with a short brown bob cut who Deuce knew well, bending to murmur something that sounded awfully like, “I’d rather wait for our turn.”

The impossible thought that the nurses had made a mistake, somehow, seeped into Deuce’s thoughts through the molten haze of _good good fuck he feels good_. The thought of being attractive – hell, _fuckable_ – to women was bizarre. Completely wild and out there. And yet… here they were.

That was when the humiliation set in properly, ripping through him once Thatch tilted him _just right_ and thrust against his prostate with such accuracy that Deuce’s vision momentarily reduced to static. They could all see exactly how he dripped pre-come onto himself, how he thrashed in Skull’s unrelenting hold at his wrists, how with each perfect, _perfect_ slide into him he twitched, and moaned, and panted like his very breath was being fucked out of him. It was delicious, relentless pressure against all of his good spots, making him grind his head back into the sheets in sheer need to _do something_ in response to how unbelievably _incredible_ Thatch felt inside him.

“Christ,” Thatch murmured with a laugh, sweat beading at his furrowed brow, “you’re so responsive, Deuce. Can’t believe Ace gets to bed you every damn night.” Thatch grunted low and hitched one of Deuce’s knees up over his shoulder to a shaky cry, pulling him open, open, evermore _open_ for his audience. “I know you’re— _ah_ — besotted with the guy, but if you e-ever want to get fucked _properly_ again after tonight, don’t be shy – you know where my room is.”

“Yeah, very funny, Thatch,” Ace shot from across the small room, “don’t push your luck.”

Ah, _god_ , he had never felt so humiliated in his life. Thatch’s face swam out of focus with the tears that pooled in his eyes, struggling fruitlessly against Skull once again.

Without warning, the sensation catching up so suddenly he gasped a shocked, pitiful sound, the tightening spring of orgasm broke free. Caught off guard by getting off to not only someone other than Ace pulling him to that tipping point, but also the casually slick degradation of being fucked like a moaning slut in front of a captive audience, Deuce coated his abdomen and chest in his release to a harsh, panted rendition of Thatch’s name.

Thatch came with about as much warning as Deuce had received himself, nails sinking into the flesh of his thigh and hip, cock rammed so deep that Deuce’s eyes actually rolled back in his head from the sensation of being _filled_. It was so demeaning and _good_ , warm and sticky and clinging to Thatch’s cock when he pulled out with a satisfied groan that left Deuce shaking, with nothing to press to the nerves that ached for _more_.

Before moving away, though, Thatch leaned up over where Deuce lay trembling to press a hard, hungry kiss to his lips with a grab at his jaw, earning a hastily swallowed gasp of surprise.

“I wasn’t kidding,” Thatch hissed, their faces curtained by his sweeping chestnut hair that fell loose around them, “you’d be welcome anytime.”

He was gone before Deuce could articulate anything beyond a small, choked sound, swallowing hard again. There was no way he would ever do such a thing, he knew without debate, no matter how good Thatch had felt. The very sudden realisation that he had now had sex with someone other than Ace slammed into the forefront of his mind, leaving him momentarily stunned by the enormity of it. And there was so much more to come yet.

_Are you happy? Is this making you happy, sating your desires?_

He couldn’t answer that just yet, acutely overwhelmed to the point of becoming aphasic after just five goddamned minutes.

At last, Skull finally moved; he rid himself of his mask and clothes with a snort of laughter, releasing Deuce’s wrists in the process. “Poor thing,” he said in what he clearly believed to be a consoling tone, “that lazy bastard only got you off once?”

“The night’s still young, my dude,” Thatch laughed, heading for the bathroom without a single hint of shame, “I’ll have him coming again before morning, don’t worry.”

Deuce clenched his teeth, hating the tiny, _tiny_ part of himself that hoped Thatch would make good on his word.

“That was just your warm-up, by the way,” Skull grinned down at Deuce, every one of his white teeth showing, “we’ve come up with _plenty_ to try out with you.” Oh, _no_ ( _oh, god, yes)._ “Boss Ace has been _crazy_ helpful and told us what you can’t tolerate, so, like, we’re gonna give all that a miss, obviously.”

Shame curled in Deuce’s stomach immediately. “Ace told you everything?” He clarified once his voice was found, the fluttering sensation seeming to expand when Skull nodded, clambering down the bed to sit heavily beside Deuce’s legs instead. “Even the things I l-like?”

“Yup,” Skull said happily; Deuce propped himself up on his elbows and craned his neck to shoot Ace a glare that carried no heat, given their situation, and was not the least bit surprised to find Ace grinning right back, devoid of any remorse. “Far easier for us to have some background knowledge rather than comin’ at you blind.” He barked a laugh at his own pun. “But don’t worry, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about! Nothin’ he told us surprised us, at least.”

The image of everyone currently in the room all sat around one of the tables in the mess hall, or perhaps piled into Marco’s office off the side of Infirmary A, discussing what Deuce did and didn’t like… it made him shiver just imagining it, and it brought home the realisation that those who had come here tonight really _did_ want to be here. Why this, of all things, helped to lessen the band of humiliation that was threatening to rob him of his breath, Deuce couldn’t quite tell. Maybe now, his reflection wouldn’t sneer quite so vulgarly if he were to address it again.

Maybe Ace had been right from the beginning.

“Now,” Skull said matter-of-factly, thick, roughly calloused fingers sliding down Deuce’s thigh, making his skin prickle pleasantly, “you gotta understand that I’m here for what I call _platonic fucking_.” Despite himself – despite how the nerves that hadn’t been properly assuaged and soundly fucked out of him by Thatch still needled at his awareness, as much as he was loathe to admit to himself – Deuce snorted a laugh at Skull’s chosen term.

“The hell is platonic fucking supposed to be?” Deuce asked with the ghost of a laugh, muscles tensing involuntarily as Skull’s touch travelled inwards, pressing into the softer inside of Deuce’s thigh and so tantalisingly close to his red-tipped erection.

“Exactly what it sounds like! You won’t catch me kissing your Wanted poster like some of the others, but you’re my friend and I wanna help you out. Oh,” Skull added as an afterthought, drumming his fingers to Deuce’s skin, “and I wanna get off, too.” If Skull was anything, he was brutally honest; Deuce had to admire his candor when on display as they were.

His grin relaxing into something closer to _soft_ – a look that was virtually never seen on the big man – Skull leaned forward to press an experimental kiss to Deuce’s lips. Reciprocating came easily, Deuce found, moving against his friend to match his almost tentative pace. Kissing Skull was alarmingly _familiar_ – he had no other way of describing it – and slowed down the buzz of dizzying adrenaline to a calm rumble within Deuce’s veins. There was none of that ravenous heat that Thatch’s had held, that Ace’s would spark with, but it was comforting – natural without expectation.

The calm before the storm, Deuce should have recognised.

“Think of this as less of a gangbang and more of a sex roulette sorta deal,” Skull said as he reared back, “we’re all here to focus on you, pal. Hell, we even agreed our order already, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Ah, it was back again – that wave of heat to Deuce’s cheeks, drowning him in arousal laced with shades of guilt and shame— “Plus, we didn’t think you’d be able to handle so many people at once; gotta ease you into it, yeah?”

Great.

A half-full bottle of red wine was set with a thump to the nightstand beside Deuce and, to his amazed surprise, Mihar stood over him, as bare as he and Skull. He removed his glasses and sat beside Deuce, effectively trapping him between the two older men. Deuce hadn’t even realised he was in the room, let alone anywhere near him, but sliding into place unnoticed was, of course, Mihar’s speciality.

Without preamble – without so much as a smile in Deuce’s direction – Mihar’s fingers slipped between Deuce’s thighs to cup and stroke at his balls, to press his fingertips firmly to his twitching rim. He spasmed against the sheets at once, clutching the fine fabric to twist in his fingers as he was breached again, the dim ache of the stretch one that was welcomed back with a guttural groan of sincere relief. He had been so _close_ under Thatch, sure for a moment that the chef was going to make him come without touching him rather than just using his body as a means of a fast, hard release.

Skull chuckled, pressing his forefinger to the sodden slit of Deuce’s cock and earning a buck of his hips, a whine caught in his throat. “Never one to waste time, are ye?” He teased Mihar, nudging his shoulder.

“No,” Mihar quipped, curling his fingers in such a manner that Deuce’s head snapped back into the pillow, pre-come leaking to trail down his shaft, “thanks to your incessant chatter, Deuce-san has had a chance to calm down. Was it not your idea to, ah, ‘ _wreck him good’?”_

An incredulous snort from Skull; a hissed whine of mortification from Deuce—and then Mihar’s mouth was on him, sucking to close around the tip of his cock. Deuce twisted under the delicious wet warmth, crying out from the suddenness of it, right as Skull nudged a finger in alongside Mihar’s. And then another. And then – _oh_ , god, he was being stretched to his capacity, he had to be, because when a fourth and fifth finger – Deuce had no idea whose they were at this point – were eased in, it all suddenly, remarkably, became too much within a heartbeat.

Their teamwork precise and focused as it ever was in battle, Skull and Mihar wasted no more time in bringing Deuce back to that peak he had been working towards previously. He felt so slick inside, their movements easy and slippery through the remaining lube and – that was _right,_ he remembered _–_ Thatch’s come. With a shaky, pained moan Deuce covered his eyes with his palms, the filthy sounds working him up just as much as his crewmates’ talented, precise touches. Skull’s mouth joined Mihar’s at his dick, lips sliding through the pre-come and saliva, the pressure within him increasing to rip a raw gasp through Deuce’s throat—

_Everyone will see me come again, they’ll see, I— I can’t stop it—_

_—_ and he came over his stomach at last with one final jab at his prostate, head thrown back and hips rolling into the pressure, throat exposed to the hand that reached up to curve and grip, to acquaint his carotids with fingers that sought to wring a strangled gasp from him.

Chest heaving and thighs shaking, he chanced a glance over at Ace, gauging how the second climax of tonight’s performance had affected him. Where he had last been met with a grin, he now locked eyes with something stormy; something dark and intrigued, like Ace was trying to weigh up if he liked what he saw now. If he liked watching what was rightfully his, whether he regarded Deuce possessively or not – always Ace’s, always only _for him_ , as Deuce had declared on Sixis – being claimed by others. Deuce could feel his heart racing fit to burst under that intense gaze, sweat beading at his hairline – felt himself teetering on the precipice of something hitherto unthinkable, that first seed of true, heedless desire to be _craved_ planting itself deep within him.

“That’s better, ain’t it?” Skull murmured, wiping at his mouth distractedly and eyeing Deuce keenly. “Would be even better if this was your third.” Deuce barely blinked away from Ace in time, lashes fluttering dazedly, to catch Thatch flashing Skull a middle finger from the back of the couch. “Hey, open your mouth, Boss.”

He did so without question, barely linking the instruction to how Skull smeared his come over his abdomen before raising his fingers to Deuce’s lips. The salty tang of his own semen was spread over his waiting tongue like an artist sweeping paint over a blank canvas, Skull’s fingers catching at his teeth when lips drew closed to suck off the remnants. His throat bobbed almost painfully under Mihar’s hold when he swallowed, and those fingers turned from tightly gripping to gently stroking.

“Here,” Mihar said, sitting up enough to reach the bottle of wine and drinking from it himself before handing it to Deuce, “wash it down with this.”

If they weren’t already aware, then Deuce wasn’t going to inform them that he was perfectly accustomed to the taste of his own semen thrust into his mouth. The bottle was accepted by the neck to be swallowed eagerly, drunk deep, upon sitting up. With a gasp he made to hand it back to Mihar before changing his mind, bringing it back to his lips for another long gulp. It was good stuff – probably Vista’s – but still difficult to swallow as if it were water.

“Lie back down,” Mihar ordered, and _oh,_ if Deuce didn’t privately enjoy that tone taken with him.

He did as he was told, forever the model apprentice; the dream submissive.

And that feeling – that feeling of complete and utter submission to the moment, to the situation he was in – was what Ace had been aiming for, Deuce knew. To get him to _let go_ of every damn hang-up he had, to accept that he could be desired by many, by others, and _wanted_.

Deuce sighed, thin and high-pitched, as long fingers skittered light over his defined chest – pausing to roll a nipple to elicit a twitch, a gasp; dipping lower to travel the valley created between his abs. The feather-light touch was delightful, causing a tremulous sound to shiver from Deuce involuntarily. Had Mihar always known he was sensitive to touches? Or was this one of Ace’s shared wisdoms about his body?

Without any warning, the wine bottle was raised and the contents spilled carefully over Deuce’s chest, earning Mihar a surprised, stuttering gasp that came _loud_. The wine ran down to pool in Deuce’s navel as he arched, back bowing away from the mattress just _so_ , collecting neatly while his eyes blew wide open.

A hand, pressed into his sternum, guided him back to lie supine again—

“M-Mihar,” Deuce actually _stammered_ , struggling to form his friend’s name, “it’s gonna spill—”

There was no hiding his reaction from his audience, not when he arched up again into Mihar’s touch – not when he cried out, his hair a furious mess from where he thrashed against the pillow – as Mihar sank to suck the wine from Deuce’s navel.

He’d had no idea _that_ could feel like _this_. An area never once considered by either himself or Ace; a simple part of the body, as insignificant as a knee, or the forearm. Never interesting, and certainly never erogenous. Yet Deuce couldn’t shut up, couldn’t stop himself grasping the damn sheets yet again and lifting to feel _more_ of Mihar’s tongue catching at the rim of his navel, to spread his legs wider around where the older man had settled himself neatly when he sucked at that hole. It was almost as if he was being eaten alive – Deuce could have laughed at the absurdity of the thought – shaking with rapidly reawakening arousal to the gripping pressure of Mihar thumbing at his waist, drawing him up and encouraging his collapse into utter pleasure from a source so unlikely.

Fingers carding through his hair had Deuce looking up instantly, dark eyes bright with tears that still lingered, clouded with the heavy haze of lust so greedily reawakened. There was no questioning doing whatever they wanted – there was no coherency to Deuce’s acceptance of Skull’s cock sliding between his lips, swallowed over his wine-soaked tongue that curled around the thick length and _sucked_. The back of his head was grasped and Skull’s hips jerked forward with a grunt sounding above him, startled, undoubtedly, by how he decided to _take_ —

—How he decided to swallow, barely gagging, when Skull came at the back of his throat with an unabashed moan, keeping Deuce in place with fingers twisted into pale hair—

—And jerk up to rub hard along Mihar’s throat, his abdomen positively quivering under the assault to his navel, the wine all lapped up… but Mihar was relentless, dragging every filthy, muffled cry and moan from him to vibrate along Skull’s cock until he pulled out of Deuce’s mouth.

“ _Fuck,”_ Skull wheezed, petting at Deuce’s dishevelled hair while he continued to fail to _be quiet_ , “you know how to use your mouth, huh?”

Yes, he knew how to use his mouth. And his hands. And his body as a whole.

Maybe the wine had gone to his head a little. Perhaps that innocent little white pill was starting to take effect. Or maybe Mihar’s mouth at his abdomen had been too much without being enough.

He didn’t really know.

But what Deuce _did_ know was that once Skull had shuffled off the bed to go clean up, Deuce was left pinned under Ace’s intense gaze again. He had stopped talking to Marco completely, was ignoring how Thatch was trying to tell him something, fixated solely on how Deuce’s sticky chest heaved upon sitting upright.

The hairs on the back of his neck and arms prickled deliciously as he held Ace’s heated look.

But this time Deuce blinked away voluntarily, leaving Ace to stare hungrily after him.

His blood was running hot – too hot – reaching high up to fever pitch and rendering him breathless at his own daring. _Are you enjoying this?_ He wanted to ask Ace, wanted to call over the sounds of his own breath panting hard at the sight of his partner regarding him like a trophy snatched from his grasp in front of thousands of spectators, _is this honestly what you wanted?_

He hoped the answers were a solid, ragged _yes_.

Warmth radiated from his cheeks upon touching them; his hands shook with more than the simple steady climb back up to the summit of a third orgasm.

The wine bottle rolled uselessly a few inches when Deuce nudged it upon turning onto all fours, guided into position by hands seldom used outside of sniping and writing.

“ _Yes,”_ Deuce felt himself hiss when Mihar gripped his hips tight, keeping him in position as he rocked forwards to sink his cock into him, “ _that’s—ah—”_ but words failed him there, embarrassment shooting through him so starkly that he could have almost convinced himself he had been injected with it.

Hands were at his crimson cheeks before he could bury his shame into the white sheets – soft, gentle hands that were nothing like Skull’s whatsoever.

“Hey, baby doc.”

Her voice was like a calming balm to his ravaged nerves, slipping soft and sweet over ragged ends that frayed and curled, fizzling within him. Anna, the dark-haired nurse, slid into place right in front of him, knees bending to accommodate him between supple bare thighs. Deep, caring eyes so tender with _something_ that Deuce couldn't place captured his own; he couldn't make any attempts to figure out that gaze while caught perfectly vulnerable between the slap of hips to his ass and the gentleness of her nimble fingers curving to cup his cheeks so sweetly. A moan choked him, left him blushing furious and red beneath her thumbs, nails painted a warming burgundy.

Anna was, Deuce noted with great difficulty – _everything_ was more difficult now, right down to simply _breathing_ – as entirely naked as the others, as he himself. As Sonya too, he barely registered, hazy, dazed awareness just catching the hint of long pink nails skittering to smooth over prominent collarbone, to thumb at a jutting tendon the moment the blonde nurse joined behind Anna with a pleased sigh. Anna's left nipple, standing pert from the round swell of her breast, was caught between Sonya's fingertips to a high, encouraging sigh, the gentle arching of Anna's spine and tilt of her knees outwards.

And that, quite simply, was all kinds of _nice_.

A great, terrifying _spike_ of pleasure rammed through Deuce’s core at her unabashed display the same instant Mihar raked his nails down his back to seat themselves into his hips, tugging him back with force that couldn't quite be compared to Thatch's previous carnal, brutal fucking. It left him grabbing for Anna regardless, rendered him shivering into her touch and cupping over her slim hand with his left, right twisting for purchase at her thigh. So entirely at odds with the previous slaps of skin to skin; so sudden, blinding, filling the blank spaces within his mind where nerves and doubt had rested, reducing them to a pleasurable, bubbling tingle of white light instead.

 _The pill_ , he thought – that tiny white drug that had been received to the back of his throat by tongue and smile commanding his attention, drawing him away momentarily from startling pleasure biting into his skin, stretching his already aching walls out wide— _this has to be the pill taking effect_.

His very _blood_ seemed to chant _let go, let go_ with each frenzied beat of his heart, encouraged and tormented by his own body into giving up, giving in, and submitting altogether into the moment and spiralling heat.

“You're really feeling it,” Anna murmured, thumb travelling to hook at wet lip, tugging it down to prompt Deuce into accepting her between his teeth with a soft sigh through his nose, “does it feel good, sweetheart?”

It felt _intense_. That was the best word available to him right now, thoughts scattering far out of reach with every press to his walls, every pull of his hips back to meet that steady rhythm. With sweat slick through sweat, lungs constricting and eyelids fluttering closed to hide eyes rolling back in heated pleasure, Deuce buried his face in shameless abandon into the inside of Anna's thigh with a groan. His skin was on fire, he was certain, the temperature ramping up to dizzying degrees so suddenly and so _deliciously_ , snapping at his nerves, leaving him shaking almost uncontrollably under Anna's soothing touches to his shoulders, his face, his arms.

“It feels,” he mouthed to her skin, barely aware of how she twitched under the slide of his lips, “too much. Too good. I'm—” a hard, perfect slide back inside had him silenced, gasping into a shift back for _more_ , hunger roiling to sickening heights in the depths of his stomach.

But to Deuce's intense, overwhelming, all-encompassing _horror_ , Mihar slowed that easy roll forwards to a grinding halt, canting Deuce against Anna with a gentle circling of hips pressed flush to ass. God _fuck_ why did he stop? What was he thinking by staying _still?_ Deuce was almost on the verge of spitting out his desperation, nails digging into Anna’s skin to ward off that final descent into some kind of madness that saw him rut into the sheets and just get off like an animal.

“Have you ever fingered a cunt before, doctor?”

Her voice was breathy, high-pitched, rolling in perfect parallel with how Deuce whined, pressed his hips back, sucked at the soft skin of her inner thigh for some pathetic control over _something,_ body lost to its own wanton mess of desire _._

No, he hadn't. Never. Had never even seen one outside of a medical setting. She had to know this. The gentle pull of lips curving to blossom into a self-satisfied smile over white teeth confirmed his suspicions.

“Would you... like us to teach you how?”

His thighs began to shake, the effort of supporting himself suddenly too much, too _much_ and so awfully, dreadfully _difficult._ So many pairs of eyes were upon him, waiting for his response, witness to the manner in which he gasped for breath, sweating under the aphrodisiac effects of the pill, surely, and given focus of the likes that he had not anticipated, stupidly. How could he have not registered that by being here, the nurses would become _involved_ beyond Sonya's previous kiss, her touches and warm breath to his neck? Had getting stuffed full and taking a dick to the back of his throat pushed aside all thoughts of yes, everyone here was going to be involved at some point? Everyone including—

—Marco was watching – a hasty flutter of lashes to his left confirmed this, drove the heat within him to fever pitch, _terrifying_ completely, making the intensity of the _ache_ burn brighter in his gut—

—and Ace, _Ace_ , fingers pinching to play with the head of his cock, quite unashamed and brash, stroking himself languidly to the show that his boyfriend was wrapped up in, not an ounce of shame present in how he had Marco right there beside him, hard and relaxed—

—Thatch, bare, washed, leering—

—Skull finally making his way out of the bathroom, towel slung around his hips—

Deuce wanted to hide. Again. Right now.

But more than that, more than anything else, he wanted to—

Anna squirmed under his rushed, heated sigh against her.

“Please,” he managed, and he briefly wondered if she had even heard him, his voice muffled against her saliva-sodden skin, “t-teach me.”

Mihar began to move again as if he had been waiting for this response, rocking Deuce forward with his momentum to slide further up against Anna's thigh, bringing him so close to her cunt that he could feel the heat radiating from her. She was turned on – Deuce was startled by how he could _smell_ her arousal (so it _wasn’t_ something limited to just Ace, interestingly) – making him leak in response to her body’s call, pre-come falling to pat softly at the sheets.

And _oh_ , that felt _wonderful_ , that pull, that hard cock sliding back into him, rubbing him so perfectly he was rendered useless and shaking and moaning an incoherent sob that vaguely resembled a plea for release, free to allow Anna to take his hand and guide it inwards with her own tremulous sigh.

Taking control of his movements, using him as if he were little more than a toy at her disposal to guide how she pleased _(just as he liked best)_ , Anna turned Deuce’s hand at the wrist to arrive palm-up. She was slick already on pressing against her, guided in place by hands fluent in her language to teach he who could barely form the simplest of words in her tongue.

Something within him reacted, like a secondary impulse to a new form of stimulus, or a delayed response of some manner, noting distantly that her head tilted back to Sonya’s shoulder on contact, straining into his touch on the curl of his fingertips to her entrance. This was wholly _new_ and not something he had ever thought he would – or had ever actively wanted to – experience, yet Deuce responded to her in kind, cock stiffening further, if possible, to her inviting twitch.

“You look amazing there, doctor,” Sonya praised, her voice carrying with it the weight of her own state of pleasure at the scene, “so cute and ready to please.” Long manicured fingers reached down to curl into Deuce’s hair, tugging just enough to elicit a sharp, eager gasp from him, forcing him to raise his face enough to look up at the nurses. Confident and excited, eyes lidded and both pairs of lips parted, they both looked exactly how Deuce felt, their dual arousal fuelling his own further. There was no way he would ever be able to work with them again – or anyone else in the room, for that matter – after tonight.

But for now, that didn’t matter. Very little mattered outside of the peak that Deuce was beginning to reach again. Bracing himself on his left arm and willing himself to stop _shaking_ like that, he met Mihar’s thrusts into him with a sigh of relief, cock twitching.

“If you can make Anna come,” Sonya continued, releasing Deuce’s hair to turn her attention to Anna’s nipples instead, tweaking both between her fingers to pinch and roll, “then we’ll share someone _very_ special with you. Won’t we, Anna?”

“Yeah,” Anna breathed, curling her fingers over Deuce’s to slide his middle inside of her, and _oh, god_ , she was so incredibly wet and _warm_ , walls contracting so _enticingly_ around his finger and her own, “we want to give you all the new experiences we can. That was Ace’s request, did you know? Try out things you might like, things you haven’t done before. Within what you’d be comfortable with, obviously.”

And what a _something_ this was. What a treat, his arousal-soaked mind concluded, adding a second finger when directed to stretch her open that little bit further. She was tight but relaxed easily around him, moaning softly when he curled his fingers back in on themselves like he would do to Ace, to himself, instinctively seeking something that didn’t exist within her body but still drawing from her the sweetest of sounds just the same.

He himself was so close, breath coming in short, sharp gasps with each snap of Mihar’s hips against him, tempo lost in the other man’s own building climax all at once. Heat flooded his senses, tickled down his spine to pool at the base, torn so acutely between the shift of angles to directly rub against his prostate and Anna’s grip around his fingers. Overloaded, breathless, lungs seizing so suddenly that the oncoming headrush threatened to make him blackout, Deuce felt himself begin to tear up with his approaching orgasm once again.

“Mihar,” Sonya said suddenly, voice delicate and silky and full of command, just how Deuce _liked_ , “come over his back.”

He pulled out, causing Deuce to _bite_ down on the side of his tongue to stop himself screaming from the loss, the sudden silencing of his aching nerves leaving him to buzz most unpleasantly. Where Mihar’s release splattered over his sore ass, his back, with a satisfied sigh of release, Deuce felt branded, marked, hard and throbbing with need.

 _Not yours._ His mind spun its rejection amid his desperate keening, his third finger pressing into Anna’s warmth to curl alongside the others. _Not yours to own. Not yours to claim._

Yet body betrayed mind entirely, skin humming with the call for Mihar – for anyone, he noted with less worry than he _should have_ – to slide back in and finish him off. It was impossible to fight off that urge, one so strong that all other thoughts were lost to its primal scream in the back of his consciousness, begging his knees to spread wider, lower his pelvis, and drag shamelessly to the sheets like he had so been set on avoiding—

A sharp, resentful cry broke from his throat at the feeling of hands clamping to his hips, lifting him again and stopping him from chasing down that much needed release. Mihar, on Sonya’s continued instruction, tugged him away from the sheets, kept him up and away and gasping wetly to Anna’s thigh, to her stomach when he leaned mindlessly forward, pressing harder into her.

“It’s okay, baby doc,” she cooed, withdrawing her finger from herself to cradle Deuce’s crimson cheeks again, encouraging him to look up through tears and clouding haze alike, “we’ll let you come soon. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“Hang on for a little longer,” Sonya added, grinning seductively into the curve of Anna’s neck on Deuce’s shift in attention to her, rolling those stiff pink buds between her fingers gently, “you’ll want to be physically ready for what the guys have in store for you. But first, you have work to do, _doctor_.”

They were going to stop him whatever he tried, he realised with a sob, a press of his forehead back to Anna’s abdomen. They were determined to take their scene and run with it – whatever _it_ was – and have him dance along like a good little puppet suspended on its many strings.

Well, so be it. If that got Mihar to let go of him. If that allowed his ache to be eventually sated, the fire burning at every cell of his being to be quelled and release to be achieved, then fine, sure, whatever. He would wait, and he would please, and he would do his job _properly_ like he always did, like he prided himself on existing to do.

If only he could rid himself of that incessant, furious _urge_ that seemed to grip him with iron claws, reducing him to a whimpering mess between the legs of the nurse who he could probably never think of as a friend again after this.

For now, though, he had to stop caring. His sole and undivided focus _had_ to rest on her pleasure, on her climax, and nothing else in the room. Not his own cock hanging thick and tight, red and wet – not his instincts urging, almost _forcing_ him to turn on his knees and _present_ for her like some kind of rabbit in heat, imploring that she take him _somehow_ and finish of what Mihar had started…

… and not the unusual, tickling sensation that was spinning fine roots in the back of his awareness that bit into all of this, cracking into his foundations and probing at desires that had never seen the light of day in Deuce’s life.

The desire to push Anna back into Sonya’s hold, to slide inside of her wet heat, and to _fuck_ with abandon.

And this startling, foreign, _alarming_ pull for her saw Deuce panting against her, hips rolling into nothing on his rise on shaking palms at her thighs, meeting her enthusiastic kiss with a low, guttural groan.

“Anna,” he moaned against her lips, cupping her neck with a shaking hand, muscles bunching tight in his arms with fatigue that wrestled his tightly-wrung arousal, “A-Anna, please, how do I—what do you n-need?”

But it was Sonya who responded for her, brushing Deuce’s sweaty hair back behind his ear where it fell between them. “Put your thumb on her clit,” Sonya instructed breathily, kissing Anna’s cheek in answer to her soft moan, “and keep your fingers curled back in on themselves behind it. Imagine you’re trying to pinch it between fingers and thumb, and rub in gentle circles.” She grinned to Anna’s cheek, fingers carding through Deuce’s hair fondly as if they indulged in this kind of behaviour all the time, audience and all. “She doesn’t like it fast and rough like you do.”

The absence of the embarrassment was every bit as distressing as feeling his cheeks burn brighter would have been. There was, remarkably, nothing – no hint of shame at her nod to his preferences, nor the realisation that Sonya and Anna were indeed involved (like the doctors had all suspected, bet on, and argued over, _dammit) …_

Nothing, save for the thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears, the burst of restless ache for her to come on his thumb pressing into her wet clit as directed.

“Good boy,” Sonya encouraged over Anna’s gasp and arch, her walls contracting delightfully tight and leaving little to the imagination of what she would feel like gloved around his dick, “just like that, Deuce. Nice and gentle now.”

The change in Anna was immediate; startingly so. Never had Deuce seen his colleague, his _friend_ pull an expression like _that_ , drawn into a look so lewd he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had broken into orgasm on the spot. Mouth falling open, toes curling into the sheets, she pulsed around his sodden fingers, slick pre-come coating him. Again, another stab to Deuce’s gut caught him off guard, Anna’s mouth falling open in time with what had to be a precise, perfect slide over her clit timed immaculately with the press and stroke of fingers at her front wall – it was all Deuce could do to stop himself asking her, asking Sonya, asking _anyone_ watching to fucking do the same to him, to put him out of his misery already.

“Keep going like that,” Anna moaned, forehead bumping to Sonya’s in her sudden restlessness, her body growing tight like a bow pulled back taut, “ _knew_ you’d be good with your hands, baby doc.”

 _I’m going to come._ The thought cut clean through Deuce’s mind once again, an internal laugh that bordered on hysterical accompanying it. _I’m going to come from fingering her and nothing else._ The pill’s fault. _Had_ to be the pill’s fault. It was _that_ which was causing him to shudder against Anna’s lips into another hot, messy kiss; _that_ that made his skin jump, had him sighing a high-pitched whine when she deliberately drew her knee in to nudge at his swollen cock – hell, the pill had to be the reason why he was this impossibly, unnaturally hard in the first place.

Because there was no other feasible explanation as to why Deuce was borderline at his peak again. Why he was panting and desperate and trying, trying, _trying_ to keep a steady pace with his fingers but faltering, pressing too hard, surely, rubbing up with the pad of his thumb to slide sticky over wet skin—but no, Anna shook in Sonya’s hold, fisting Deuce’s hair with a shocked moan, nails cutting into his scalp.

“ _Yes_ ,” she groaned, jerking against him and Sonya’s continued twirl of deft fingers to prominent pink nipples, “th-that’s it, just—”

His momentum was lost to drown helpless in her orgasm, her muscles contracting _hard_ around him and holding him there, face buried in her neck to pant through her climax with her, almost. The rhythmic, erratic contracting was new, was _exciting_ , a pulsing so unlike what his body, what Ace’s, would offer at the point of no return—

“Wow,” Thatch’s loud, abrasive voice shattered the moment, floating over to shove its way into their little bubble, “didn’t think you had it in ya, _baby doc_. How cute.”

Neither had he. And, judging by the way Sonya looked at Thatch, at how Anna laughed shakily and stroked tenderly at Deuce’s cheeks, neither had they.

But while she may be sated – while Anna turned to languidly direct her attention to her girlfriend instead, kissing Sonya sweetly – Deuce was decidedly _desperate_ for relief.

He wasn’t going to get it from Anna. He didn’t _want_ to get it from Anna, he realised with a groan, the moment suddenly gone, shattered, swept away by her release, her pleasure. Hand shaking on sliding free of her warmth, slicked to the wrist with her excitement, Deuce reached back to stroke over his pleasurably sore rim.

The air in the room seemed to still on breaching with two fingers, no one daring to breathe with his hasty introduction of a third. Even Anna went still, her gaze burning into his back, yet was nothing, _nothing_ in comparison to the way Ace’s mouth curved into a satisfied, almost _proud_ grin from across the room.

 _Look at what my boyfriend does to himself,_ he could almost hear Ace jeer, _look at how he gets himself off_.

A curl of fingers down to push against, to rub obstinately against his swollen prostate had Deuce pressing back into his own touch with a hitched sob that transformed into a ragged groan, spreading his touch to fill, to satisfy. He wanted to ask someone else to step in and relieve him but it was too late, he was too far gone to form a coherent sentence, instead trembling violently to the thundering of his heart, the lewd _slick_ sounds he drew from himself, his lungs seizing as the sensation coiled, tightened—

—and Deuce screwed his eyes shut against that slamming force, that brilliant white shock of orgasm wrung from himself to drip thick to the sheets. Relief flooded him, quelling the agony that Mihar had fucked into him and left to fester so cruelly.

Silence, save for his rapid heartbeat, his gasping breaths, beat down on him for a moment before Thatch clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Ah, sweetheart.” Thatch sounded disappointed, yet Deuce almost couldn’t care now, his brain numbed to anything outside of the startingly sudden urge to collapse. “You could have just _asked_. I would’ve been happy to wring you dry.”

“No,” Sonya replied before words could even begin to form on Deuce’s tongue, “Marco’s not had a go with him yet. You stay there until you’re told to move. He wasn’t supposed to do that.”

A snicker that Deuce didn’t see, eyelids too heavy to do much more than slide closed, fingers gently pulling free to a wince of pain (that did not jolt through him most deliciously, honestly) – before her words made sense.

Before he was being rolled onto his back by the nurses, snapping to attention as best he physically could.

“If you’d be kind enough to step in, Marco,” Anna purred at Thatch’s pout, amusing herself by dragging her nails along the length of Deuce’s abdomen, smile widening at the twitch of his muscles, “and maybe take over while we freshen up.”

He tried to sit up, Marco’s name alerting him into motion, into a flare of panic fuelled by the excited rush of _oh my god he’s actually getting up_. Sonya effortlessly pushed him back down, speaking over his whine, his pitiful protest.

“So naughty, finishing himself off like that—”

“—like some kind of animal in heat—”

“—unable to wait for Marco to work his magic—”

“—should’ve just fucked him while he was figuring your cunt out. Sweet boy. I brought the strap-on just in case he needed some help on that end.”

He wasn’t left shaking with embarrassment from the nurses’ words for long. His heart fluttered, his vision narrowed, the moment the bed sunk and dipped on Marco joining in with a predatory smile that touched on something almost _scared_ within Deuce.

With touches to his face, his chest, his knees, the nurses left him and Marco alone on the bed, bending to peck kisses ( _very_ interestingly) to Marco’s cheeks before taking themselves off to the bathroom to clean up, and… well… Sonya hadn’t had a chance to come yet, had she? He hadn’t been paying enough attention to her.

“I wonder,” Marco murmured, snapping Deuce’s attention back to him completely, rolling the empty, neglected wine bottle that was still somehow lingering on the bed under the tips of his fingers in an almost detached, casual manner, “is there _anything_ you won’t agree to? Outside of what Ace has told us is a hard no, of course. You’ve taken everything they’ve thrown at you _so_ well so far; you don’t seem to complain much. Are you just that suggestable? Or…” he lifted the wine bottle, seeming to consider it, before his eyes flashed almost gold. _Dangerous_. “Do you want to know what I think?” Deuce shivered under that gaze, the sedative effect of his orgasm dulling what would have usually been a pronounced fight or flight reaction to that predatory glint, the aphrodisiac coursing through his veins urging him to do something, anything at all, to get Marco to pin him down, to fuck him, to ruin him completely— “I think you get off on humiliation. Shall we see if you can get off on something else, too?”

Anything. Deuce would gladly accept anything in this moment, right here, stomach drenched in his own seed and body shivering violently in its call for Marco’s attention. It was not beneath him, right now, to reach out for his senior and grasp his hand, bringing Marco’s two forefingers to his lips to lick, kiss, suck between his teeth—

 _Please_ , he wanted to say, gazing up at Marco’s expression of dark interest, of lustful hunger that Deuce had never once seen, through long lashes that sparkled with tears and need, _please. Just please. Whatever it is that you want. Whatever you can think of._

The drug was working its wonders on him; it had simmered to a delicate touch, almost, it seemed, by way of leaving him cognitively in control, aware and as alert as anyone could be post-third orgasm, yet freeing his senses and mind to the true bliss that the body could offer. The _real_ limits of lust; the _true_ height of pleasure to be found in simply drawing Marco’s fingers in to the knuckles, tongue lapping at the tips on pulling back. His very skin ached for Marco; every fiber of his being _screamed_ for Marco to just _get on with it and do whatever you’re planning._

And Marco, it transpired, was far more than willing to share his intent with Deuce.

Long nails scraped at his skin where Marco grabbed at him none too gently, wine bottle abandoned for just long enough for Deuce to be guided down _again_ onto his back. _This is where you belong_ , he could almost hear Marco taunt, mouth free of those long fingers long enough to gasp, to swallow, before Marco returned them to slide wet along the pad of his tongue— _on your back, legs spread open, ready to accept whatever takes our fancy._

Words that Deuce would never hear Marco speak. A sudden fantasy to witness Marco degrade him so thoroughly; a by-product of the pill, he supposed, lucidity on the verge of being tossed aside yet again to make room for nothing but thoughts of Marco, thoughts of pleasure and of a gut-wrenchingly _satisfying_ need to be _claimed_ that he had given up on protesting against. Not something that he could take the blame for, surely; far easier to point the finger at the drug than accept that such wishes had been within him since the very beginning.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” Marco’s words floated to him through a haze of panting eagerness, arousal deep in his skin despite not reaching his cock just yet, still thoroughly spent. Marco was looking at him – _Marco_ was looking at _him_ , sodden with sweat and aching for him in ways that would surely see him dismissed from the first division the moment this was over – and what could Marco possibly ever do to him that would make Deuce want him to stop?

Cold glass touched at his slick, used entrance, causing Deuce to moan softly. It was pleasantly chilled, cooling the burn of such intense use of cocks and fingers alike, until something clicked among the fog and the swirling heat in his mind.

 _Glass_.

The wine bottle.

“Wait,” Deuce panted on releasing Marco’s fingers again, looked wildly over his shoulder to Ace, to Thatch, to his _audience_ watching with palpable anticipation, “that’s—not with—”

Marco cocked his head, as if judging whether or not to end this without Deuce’s express direction to do so. “The safe word?”

Deuce remained silent save for his shaky breaths, his audible swallow.

A broad, satisfied smile split Marco’s face, the hunger returning tenfold to consume what little hold Deuce still commanded over himself, losing himself so easily, so readily, in Marco’s delight. “ _Good_ ,” he praised, before rolling his wrist and breaching Deuce’s body with the neck of the bottle.

The slide, the stretch – both came easy, the girth of the thing almost laughable in comparison with five fingers previously stretching him open all at once. But it was the weight of the humiliation that had Deuce panting hard enough to induce dizziness, caused him to tense and to flex, helplessly _wanting_ to be helpless under Marco’s hold that settled at his bent knee, his unrelenting stare that held flames that danced and burned. He was being fucked with a _bottle_ , of all things, reduced to a simple orifice in which to insert, a mere form of entertainment for such a powerful man, surely, judging by the way that satisfaction seemed to spiral from Marco’s throat and form a dark chuckle.

“Is it that good?” He asked, eyes narrowing in response to Deuce clenching around the glass and whining. He pulled back and slid in again, the flared body of the bottle bumping against Deuce’s rim, neck entirely sheathed and chilling his heated, sore walls before warming to his touch. “I’m surprised. I wouldn’t have thought you could feel much of anything compared to Thatch or Mihar.”

He _couldn’t_ , and Marco’s smirk belied that he _knew this_. Knew that the shift of Deuce’s hips, the gentle arching of his back to adjust the angle within himself, and the breathy little moan he made with the tilt of his head back into the sheets were all borne from the abandonment of guilt and shame.

 _Absolve me completely_ , he longed to beg, cheeks flushed and skin prickling under the effects of the aphrodisiac, under that cobalt blue gaze. _Rid me of my last shred of dignity and wear it as a medal for yourself. Take it from me._

“I guess there really _isn’t_ anything you would object to,” Marco mused, words almost lost under Deuce’s sudden groan as the bottle was twisted within him. “I wonder whether you can get hard again just from this?”

Marco’s wrist bent, the muscles in his upper arm contracting _so nicely_ with the movement – the bottle shifted, catching at Deuce’s overworked, overtired, over _loved_ prostate through his front wall, causing him to shiver violently and grasp at the sheets, at Marco’s arm—

“Nice?” Marco asked gently, his smile knowing, his own cock visibly swelling between his thighs, and _oh_ , fuck, how Deuce longed to feel the weight of it slide over his tongue, choke down the back of his throat, “did I find a good spot?” He looked almost sinisterly pleased with himself when Deuce nodded frantically; almost seemed to fight with himself to not lean in, to not pull the bottle from his student’s tired body and slide in thick and hard in its place. “Great. Now hold it there.”

_Hold it…?_

The world spun on Marco’s dive, dipping down to mouth and lap at Deuce’s soft, spent cock. _Yearning_ for this contact didn’t quite cover it, couldn’t quite describe the paralysing shock of pleasure-turned-terror at the sight of that mouth sliding to over-sensitized skin. Deuce flinched, trembled, arched and stuttered something that could have almost been persuaded to sound like a false protest. It took _control_ , he would have realised had he not been so tired, so aroused in mind with body working to accommodate that flood of stimulus, to not fist Marco’s hair and shove him down, roll his hips up to slap to full lips so like he was comfortable doing with Ace.

But this was Marco, and he was weak for his mentor in every possible way imaginable, he was able to accept now.

Weak to his talented suckling, his coaxing of his body to continue playing their game, to awaken under his touch and slide of tongue to still salty-wet head. It _hurt_ to receive more attention to nerves so worked over, seeing Deuce bite his lip over a stifled moan and twist his hips, needing it to stop yet breathlessly encouraging _more_ because he could _take it_.

“Ah,” Marco breathed on letting go, raising his face to meet Deuce’s tear-bright eyes, “you’re struggling to get hard again. Willing, but struggling.”

 _Of course_ he was struggling. The fact that the desire to continue was there at all was to be applauded, he thought with a desperate, high laugh – no one would be able to get hard again so quickly post-third orgasm, aphrodisiac or not.

No one except a man with the ability to heal such ravaged, tired nerves, perhaps.

Cyan and gold danced along Marco’s tongue, his lips, on his descent back to Deuce’s cock—

“ _Ah, Marco—!_ ”

—and revitalised his nerves, calmed his body, brought it back to gently reset the pain, the internal swelling, the bleeding dry of his balls and—

And that was all. Marco stopped there, healing him no further than what was required for Deuce to immediately thicken, to swell against Marco’s tongue that vibrated with a pleased, self-satisfied hum. His muscles still ached, trembling on his attempt to sit up (which Marco stopped with a palm slapped to his sweaty chest, pushing down effortlessly to a chorus of stuttered breaths, a shaky inhale). The bruises at his neck didn’t fade, still sensitive to touch. Fatigue still smothered him in its suffocating embrace. No – all Marco had done was get him ready to be used again, to – and Deuce flushed at the thought – fully _enjoy_ the experience instead of clinging desperately to cramping overstimulation and numbness.

And that wasn’t _fair_.

“I told you,” Marco smiled benignly, threat present regardless, tongue peeking out to lap at the flushed head of Deuce’s cock, “to _hold it._ ”

The neck of the bottle was pushed back fully inside, the movement having allowed it to slip almost all the way out unnoticed, to a whimper. For good measure, Marco pressed up again to assault Deuce’s newly revitalised prostate, and oh _shit that wasn’t supposed to feel so good_ —

“Deuce.” Marco was blurred through the tears, the haze of his body reeling confused from the sudden tug and pull of easy arousal, the warmth that pooled from Marco’s fist working him over where his mouth left him. “Do you even know how to use this thing?” His thumb rubbed over the frenulum, through the slit, and Deuce almost bit his lip _off_ at the look that Marco was giving him. “You didn’t use it with Thatch. You didn’t use it with Skull or Mihar, Anna or Sonya. When getting yourself off, you opted for your ass, not your cock.” The world spun sharply once again when Deuce’s gaze flickered to Thatch’s snort, whining at the humiliating reminder. “Don’t you know how to use it properly?”

It was a goad – he knew this – yet he fell for it anyway. “Of course I know _how to_ ,” Deuce bit out, feverish under Thatch’s – everyone’s – stare, “it’s just—I don’t—” he couldn’t say it; he prayed Ace, always so eager to _help,_ wouldn’t say it either.

“Shall I…” that flash of gold; that thrill of danger shot up Deuce’s spine again, “verify that myself?”

And then he was moving, holding out his hand to Thatch to receive a bottle of lube, planned, calm, smirking at Deuce’s mingled fear and excitement.

“I had planned on letting you finger me,” Marco informed, squeezing a generous amount of lube into his palm, “seeing as you at least know how to use those, but…”

Instead he swung a leg over Deuce’s hips, gripping his sides with his knees as if worried he was going to be bucked off. As if, Deuce thought wildly, fixated entirely on Marco’s hand disappearing behind him, on the arch of his back, pelvis angling to allow for easier entry—as if Marco intended to render him entirely breathless when he shifted higher, knees aligning with Deuce’s ribs, and _pressing_.

Marco’s cock was so close, thick and dripping onto Deuce’s chest with the tilt of his hips back into his own touch; he could grab it if he wanted, snatch at Marco’s thighs and haul himself up to bring it closer, to taste, to sate that itch that was egged on by the drug coursing through his system, screaming for him to leap into action—

Yet Marco’s fingertips spread to his sternum was all the direction Deuce needed to know that he was not supposed to move, was to leave his arms bent uselessly alongside his head to the mattress and simply _watch_ , be denied of what he so longed to do. It was every bit as exhilarating as being allowed to touch, though, he could admit; almost too much to take in everything at once. Marco’s weight bearing down on his solar plexus, knees shifting to accommodate a second, a third finger, maybe… It was excruciating not being able to see, guided only by Marco’s minute shift in his brows to tug down, hips lifting along with the swell of bicep muscle working to probe deeper.

Enraptured, breathless, Deuce could do little more than stare at his mentor on top of him, hard and _so ready_ to fall victim to the pathetic taunt and give whatever it was that Marco wanted to receive.

“Didn’t have you pinned as a bottom,” Deuce managed to wheeze under the constriction, lopsided smirk finally showing itself for the first time that night under Marco’s heated gaze. “Of all the people in the crew, I thought _you’d_ b-be a cert for a top.”

“Darling,” Marco cooed, stroking up Deuce’s sweat-slicked skin to thumb at his abused lip, cup his cheek with something bordering on gentle, “with you, this barely even counts as bottoming.” He snickered at Deuce’s half-hearted attempt at a frown, pre-come dripping again to pool warm on Deuce’s chest. “I’ll fuck you unconscious after I’ve had some fun, don’t worry. You’ll like me better as a top.”

Daring bit at him from nowhere, fuelling him to break into a grin that mirrored Marco’s perfectly. This was what it was about, right? Allowing him to break off, break free, relax and enjoy? Deuce barely even glanced in Ace’s direction before asking, voice coming low and husky, “is that a promise?”

“No,” Marco corrected in a soft hiss, “baby, no, it’s a _threat_.”

And he removed his fingers to fist at Deuce’s cock, eyes narrowing when Deuce’s hips twitched up, fingers twisting into the sheets once more.

Another first for him; another loss, he could almost construe it as, gone forever. Someone other than Ace was being filled by him, inner muscles working to accommodate the stretch of his cock, a hum of pleasure shivering through not-Ace to fizzle out through Deuce’s extremities. Oh, this was _different_ , and this was _overwhelming_ yet again, and Deuce just about caught himself wondering what would happen if _this_ turned out to be the thing that broke him.

It wouldn’t change anything; he was set on that much, at the very least.

Marco was, in comparison to Ace, bordering on _cold_. Maybe that was how everyone felt, was Deuce’s exhausted, inane thought on Marco sinking down to the hilt, chin lifting and hands splaying over chest, abdomen, throat. Perhaps it was normal to not feel like your cock was in danger of burning when you made love like this to someone who wasn’t Ace.

Although the fast, hard pace that Marco immediately set could not even begin to resemble _love-making_ in any capacity.

“There we go,” Marco sighed, rolling his hips down with a slap, smearing leftover lube into Deuce’s chest that vibrated with his moan, “make sure you don’t let that bottle slip, Deuce. if it’s not still inside you by the time I’m ready to take you, then there will be consequences.”

The bottle. He had, in all honesty, forgotten about the thing in the wake of Marco taking him to the root – _Marco_ , of all people, of all of his musings and half-baked thoughts that had followed him after Ace’s initial question of _hey, if you could bed anyone else in the crew, who would it be?_

Yes, the bottle – Deuce clenched immediately, head swimming pleasantly at the feel of it still there, warmed by his body and unyielding to his repaired nerves. Thatch was watching, he realised embarrassingly belatedly, peering to see how his rim flexed between parted bent knees, how he squirmed beneath his commander in the most hopelessly futile attempt at hiding they had seen all night.

Marco, of course, noticed. “Let him look,” he instructed, bending to cage Deuce’s head between strong arms, lips brushing a crimson cheek, “let him see what I’m making you do.”

His dignity had been snatched and worn with pride, just as he had hoped; his blood surged with the thought of it, aphrodisiac (had to be, _had to be_ ) guiding him to moan helplessly and clutch at Marco’s thighs despite the warning look this earned him.

Deuce sighed tremulously, nails digging into what little fat Marco carried, the pull of unfettered desire leaving him tingling with excitement in the absence of shame once again. What was there left to be held back by? What could there be now, at this point, that stopped him from pulling Marco down to meet him, bucking up to slap and draw a startled, choked groan from his senior in rank, in occupation?

There was nothing left beyond exhaustion; each wall had been soundly destroyed, ripped down brick by brick until all that was left was something raw and vile that he now shared with each of them. Something that they would never speak of again, leaving him with the memories and imprints of freedom granted only for a few hours. And he owed it all to Ace.

“Get on with it, Marco,” Thatch’s sudden growl snapped, “I’m not in the mood to wait for you to play with your food.”

Marco clicked his tongue, smile almost feral on circling a hand around Deuce’s throat and _squeezing_. “But he just _begs_ to be toyed with,” Marco said over the guttural choke, the flailing of Deuce’s feet kicking out in surprise. “Oh,” he laughed, the sound catching in his chest on his sudden jolt forward, slapping down to grind and twist his hips back into Deuce’s pelvis, “did you just get harder?”

Fingers dug into his neck harder, driving his hips to buck up, his head to swim, his skin to sear with fire that burned away at his awareness. Those cruel _kind_ pads pressed firmer to his carotids, left him breathless without carrying the threat of asphyxiation, drove his eyes to roll back in utter surrender. He was _so_ tired, exhausted, too worn out to properly pretend that he had any desire to fight back against Marco’s hold, his grin. Deuce smacked flat-palmed to Marco’s thighs and gained nothing, no semblance of control, no— nothing at all outside of rapidly building pressure in his groin, in his nerves, the end fast approaching under such distressing _(exhilarating)_ circumstances.

“No one believed him when he said you like to be choked,” Marco rasped, meeting the weak thrust up into his body with a hard, sound slap, “we didn’t think you were as much of a sub as he said. _Fuck_ ,” the curse left him in a rolling hiss, a twist of his ass to Deuce’s balls pressed flush against sodden skin, “were we wrong. I’m glad we were.”

He wanted to thank him. He wanted to express how such simple praise did more to wipe away the humiliation he carried than anything else had that night. But he was too far gone, too lost in the act of giving up so completely, urging Marco silently to take his pleasure from him and use it, use it, _use it_.

Lips shiny with saliva, breath heavy and muscles urging him to stop, to sleep, to rest, Deuce ground his head back into the sheets once again and _sobbed_ , “Marco _please_ , let me— let me come, Marco, I’m so— you’re _so—”_

There was no way of stopping himself from reaching his peak now; no way to quell the delicious fury tearing through blood that called for release, for _Marco_ , for this to end in a sob, a yell, maybe. Dizziness overtook him, his breaths shortened to rattling and shallow, awareness on cracking open his eyelids reduced to a whirling haze through fresh tears and loss of blood to oxygenate his brain.

It felt… it felt _freeing_.

His wrists were seized, heading off his climax to a surprised gasp. Abdomen flexing on bending, Marco pinned his wrists to the bed and, before Deuce could do more than stutter Marco’s name, he pressed a hard, hungry kiss to his lips.

It was rough, nothing nice about it at all— yet that _made it_ nice, made it so incredibly delicious, being held down and _consumed_ like that. Marco’s tongue swept inside without invitation, stuffing Deuce full to silence his gasps, his whimpers, his continuous whispered stream of pleas and mindless requests to be finished off properly this time, even if it wasn’t via his preferred route.

“Go on, then,” Marco mouthed to his lips, catching his sore, swollen lower lip between white teeth momentarily to tug and nip, “come inside your commander, Deuce.”

It was all he needed – all he wanted, dammit, beyond— oh, and there it was, Marco’s claim over him, Marco’s bite to his neck that could effortlessly rip through artery, tendon, trachea if he wished. Deuce convulsed under him, sobbing out his pleasure as he came hard into that tight warmth so silkily gloved around him.

“Huh,” Marco said a little breathlessly, steadying himself with a palm to each of Deuce’s bent knees on sitting back upright, “guess you do know how to use it after all.”

He tried to grab at Marco when the other man lifted himself off his cock with a satisfied sigh, a hand shoving through blond hair – but he had no energy left in him beyond gasping vaguely, heart hammering so hard in his chest he thought it may give in altogether.

His head lolled to the side to seek out his boyfriend’s silver gaze, lidded and dark, drawn and unamused.

Ace looked… Ace looked _angry_. The realisation sparked fear to course through Deuce’s skin, the sensation wrestling with the pull for sleep, the snap of the drug that continued to work him over. And yet despite this Ace still had his erection in hand, thumb sliding over the shiny head on meeting Deuce’s tired, questioning look. Purposeful and unabashed, Ace licked his lips before tugging the lower between his teeth, raising an eyebrow a fraction.

 _It should be me making you cry like that_ , he seemed to say, and Deuce was in no doubt that that was exactly what he was trying to convey.

 _Then don’t sit there and watch,_ Deuce tried to challenge back with a jut of his chin, finally finding the strength to move, to twitch under his own touch to his soaked chest, to his stomach. _Come join in, Ace, and take back what’s yours_.

But Ace didn’t move, just as Deuce knew he wouldn’t, and Deuce made no attempt to prevent Marco from pulling him upright by the shoulders.

“Do you ask Ace for permission?” Marco questioned, thumbing at Deuce’s lips to smear pre-come collected from his erection to them, to delve inside and swipe at his eager tongue that flexed with a swallow. “Do you beg him to let you come, behave like a good little sub for him? C’mon baby doc, tell me how good he fucks you, how bad you want him.”

The bed dipped behind him, not being nearly enough to distract him from Marco’s lips finding his again, impatient and unwilling to wait for him to answer; they knew it anyway without him confirming anything.

But ah, god, he was so _tired_ , too tired to feasibly stop his legs from shaking on parting his knees to accommodate Marco kneeling between them. Big, strong hands encircled him from behind, but Deuce was far too exhausted, far too desperate to simply drop to Marco’s chest and stay there than even begin to wonder why Thatch was back again. Those calloused fingers found his nipples, pinched and tweaked until he arched weakly, a soft, fatigued moan slipping from him to unconsciously encourage.

“By the way,” Marco murmured into Deuce’s hair, pecking a kiss to the damp strands like he was staving off the foreboding undercurrent that seemed to _crackle_ just below the surface, “you didn’t keep the bottle in you.”

His breath was shocked out of him; his body clenched instinctively to prove Marco wrong, yet found nothing to work around—

 _Oh no_.

“So that means,” Thatch’s beard scratched at his neck, his hairy chest warming Deuce’s sweaty back on pulling him against it gently, “we’re gonna stuff you full.”

“Completely full.”

Fingers probed at his drenched, relaxed hole, hooking and pulling at the rim in an almost teasing manner, sliding through the mess of come and lube enough to set those all too familiar sparks off within him again.

“You’ve never taken two cocks at once, have you, Deuce?”

It should have sickened him, how easily his body responded to such a line. It should have seen him stammering out something incoherent and flushing furiously rather than clutching weakly for Thatch on being lifted up, spread open yet again—

“You won’t know what’s hit you.”

—but instead Deuce could only accept what was happening with exhausted eagerness, returning Thatch’s hard kiss coaxing his tongue into play with as much vigor as he could muster now.

He’d have been lying to say he wasn’t scared the moment the head of Thatch’s cock aligned and pushed in. Would have been lying to pretend that the thought of having Thatch and Marco pull him apart, wrest from him everything he could ever offer, wasn’t hot, wasn’t _exciting_.

He’d have been lying if he had tried to convince himself he didn’t want this so achingly badly.

The moment Thatch was fully seated – the motion swift, possessive, _perfect_ – Deuce _screamed._

His legs shook violently in Thatch’s strong hold – his jaw locked, refused to close even after verbalising turned impossible, too much, eyes screwed shut with how _fast_ Thatch set his immediate pace, fucking into him without hesitation, without build up. It was like— like being reminded, on some level, that he was here to be owned, fucked how _they_ wanted in order to open his experiences up to the new and the different.

And this _was_ different, even compared to the first time Deuce had had Thatch’s cock slam sobs and moans from his throat. Again, as before, there was nothing gentle about the way Thatch took him, nothing slow or considerate and oh, _god_ could he _hit it good—_ could Thatch _ever_ angle him right and _pound_ into every keening, sensitive nerve inside him.

Toes curling, legs bouncing with the force of Thatch’s pace, Deuce gasped frantically, desperate, clinging to him as best he could because Marco, dammit, Marco was too far away, just out of reach, stroking copious amounts of lube over his thick, flushed erection that was going to tear Deuce apart, no doubt—

“That’s it,” Thatch groaned into Deuce’s neck, “that’s _it_ , Deuce, tighten up again like—” His encouragement was lost under his rolling sigh, fucking up into the slick wet of Deuce’s welcoming body. “Lemme just get you goin’ a lil’ before Marco— _mnh—_ joins in.”

He already had him _going_ , Deuce wanted to laugh, but only high–pitched, stuttered gasps left him. And Thatch, apparently, took that as his cue to prove exactly what he defined as _a lil’_.

Everything was reduced to _need_. Everything coherent – every single remaining shred of doubt, worry – was silenced the instant Thatch bit into his neck in earnest, adjusted his grip to better anchor Deuce against him. Exhaustion prevented him from doing little more than shouting out a guttural, futile sound that only encouraged, not deterred.

Overstimulation set in like physical pain coiling in his gut, wrenching from him uncontrollable shivers and twitches. It was good, a bad–good kind of good that felt like cramping in the pit of his abdomen, rendered Deuce to gasping wet and overwrought through a new flurry of tears staining his cheeks. He had never— had _never_ been brought to this point before, this feeling of standing on the precipice of utter ruin, face to face with his inevitable collapse and _welcoming it_. How many times had he come now; four? And he was sure that between them, Thatch and Marco were going to force a fifth out of him, whatever it took.

“I can’t,” Deuce sobbed, clawing back for Thatch’s hair, bumping cheek to cheek where Thatch hooked his chin over Deuce’s shoulder, “I _can’t_ , Thatch, it’s too—” A startled cry ripped through him, Thatch’s teeth sinking into his neck and sucking, aiming to mark, to mark, to _mark me up more—_

“Safe word?”

The question was growled into his skin like a predator snarling a warning to its hovering onlookers edging in to snatch its prize. This wasn’t an invitation to tap out; this was a challenge to keep going.

But it was too good, too damn good despite how Deuce simply _couldn’t_ anymore. He shook his head, lips pressed together resolutely. Thatch was fucking him so _right_ , all lips and teeth working his neck into what had to be a gorgeous spread of intricate purples and reds, nails slicing into the softer undersides of his thighs, holding him open for Marco – for everyone – to watch, to enjoy the show of Deuce finally giving over to pleasure, just as he, as Ace, as they all had wanted.

Between coming inside Marco and being filled with Thatch’s cock, Deuce hadn’t softened at all. He stood hard and curved back to his abdomen, head wet with pre–come despite there being no break, no respite. The drug? Had to be. He could bounce back from an orgasm relatively easily, usually, but to be able to go again immediately after? To maintain an erection and not drop to flaccid at all? It was unheard of prior to tonight, had never been achieved no matter how many times Ace had tried to keep him going in the past out of sheer stubbornness.

But that stopped mattering the moment he blinked through the tears to see Marco watching him hungrily, teasing the tip of his cock between forefinger and thumb.

He begged for him. He sobbed out Marco’s name, felt his heart rate pick up to dangerous, dizzying heights when Marco responded by sliding in closer, up against him, pulling him in away from Thatch by the neck to once again kiss him like he was a starving man falling upon his first food in days, weeks. And Deuce _gave_ himself to it, moaning into Marco’s mouth, against his lips, sucking his tongue on pulling back before meeting him for more.

A touch at his rim saw Deuce tightening instinctually, clamping around Thatch’s length and earning him a feral, broken growl bitten into his shoulder. On relaxing as much as he could, as much as he could force himself to do because he was already so _full_ , Marco slid his finger inside as well.

The stretch was— was unexpected, yet not. A single extra finger, something that was normally no problem at all, barely more than a welcomed introduction to the following stretch and bliss, had Deuce gasping and shaking through the breach, seizing Marco by the shoulders.

“Marco—” He could barely breathe, let alone speak. Thatch was relentless, Marco’s addition apparently doing nothing but fuelling him to refuse to let up, to deny Deuce an inch where he needed a mile, “Marco, _Marco— ah— Mar–Marco—”_

Marco hushed him gently, at complete odds with how he curled his finger inside, jabbing direct into Deuce’s sensitive prostate— Deuce threw his head back, sobbing out a pitiful moan as Marco murmured, “if you think _this_ is a lot, wait until I have my cock in you.”

He couldn’t wait; he couldn’t stand the promise of being split open by these two men and rocked into what he hoped would be the final climax of the night. Scared too, yes – terribly worried and frightened – but lust clouded his judgement as it so easily did when nights turned passionate, driven further and further along by Thatch, by Marco, by the sounds his own body was making.

The second finger had Deuce dragging angry red lines down Marco’s neck (lines that didn’t heal, he vaguely noticed). The third rendered him a mess of shaking limbs, sweat and tears mingling under Marco’s lips where kisses rained to nerve–fizzing skin. He had never been so— so open before, stretched like this between two people, surely on the cusp of his breaking point.

The ache of fatigue would not leave him no matter how hard the adrenaline, the aphrodisiac, worked through his blood. He couldn’t do much more than whimper into Marco’s neck when he pressed up against him with a pleased hum, aligning his cock with Deuce’s sore, stretched rim and stroking the head back and forth through the mess of fluid that coated his ass, his perineum.

As if silently communicated – and it probably had been, Deuce thought dazedly, sucking wet gasps against Marco’s shoulder – Thatch slowed right down to a stop with a grunt of effort.

It was happening, finally, _finally—_ and he— god, no, he wasn’t ready, he couldn’t do this, couldn’t take the pressure of the blunt cock head pressing firm, insistent, to his hole, seeking entrance into something that surely could never hope to occupy _two—_

—but it could, and he did, and Marco’s dick crammed inside as well to a sharp, pained inhale from Deuce—

—he went rigid, jolting forward, legs spreading wider to accommodate but it was impossible, it was _impossible and too, too much—_

—his lungs didn’t want to work; he choked, scrabbling at Marco’s back, his neck, spine arching in a fruitless bid to lessen the ache, but it did nothing – he could do nothing but accept, take, _break—_

Deuce didn’t say the safe word when prompted. He was fine – fine! An almost hysterical laugh bubbled from his chest. This wasn’t worth tapping out for, not this once in a lifetime opportunity to be wrung dry quite so severely. His heart felt like it was going to rip apart within him for how frantic it danced.

Marco eased himself in further, and suddenly the pain merged with _pleasure_ borne from intense, overwhelming pressure at Deuce’s swollen, brutalised prostate. And oh, _yes_ , that felt _incredible_. There was no other word for it, no two ways about it— Deuce’s vision reduced to static, suddenly on the verge of hyperventilating. He couldn’t breathe. _He couldn’t breathe._

“Easy,” Marco soothed, kissing his cheek, holding him steady at the hips, “take a moment to calm down, Deuce. I’m not going to move until you’re ready.”

He was grateful – _so_ grateful for Marco’s mercy. Every muscle, it seemed, twitched, shivered, jumped with each tiny shift of those two cocks in him, preventing Deuce from drawing breath properly. Was it supposed to be this overwhelming? Was he supposed to feel like he was drowning, never to resurface? But it was _fantastic_ , the sensations building and warping into something far, far more intense than he could have imagined with every passing second, every minute that they simply held him, allowed his frenzied heart to simmer back to something less likely to result in cardiac arrest.

Until, that was, Marco moved to press a kiss into his damp hair, resulting in the head of Deuce’s cock – still hard, still tight and dripping – nudging to slide wet against Marco’s abdomen.

Bolts of electricity rocketed through him at the contact, reducing him back down to a searing mass of choked moans and helpless cries. It was all so _much_ , so viscerally felt from skin to bone to neuron to soft tissue, and Deuce was powerless to the rush of sensations pulling at him. It took all of his strength, all of his self–control, to raise his face from Marco’s shoulder to kiss him, wet and messy.

Fingers closed around his throat and pulled _hard,_ rough, jerking him back against Thatch’s chest; before he had time to even attempt to breathe he was being kissed hungrily by Thatch, his cock grasped in the same motion.

“Ready?” Marco asked, trailing his fingertips down Deuce’s damp chest, pausing to swipe his thumb over a pert, hard nipple and gain a twitch, a sigh.

Deuce nodded, gaze lidded and unfocused, yet he still managed to catch the way Marco’s smile tugged wider and ravenous.

There was no point in holding back – no sense to be found in trying to keep quiet at this stage. His mind went blank on their movement, working in tandem together to slide out only to rock back in. Their pace was gentle, testing, gauging how Deuce would cope with and react to his first foray into being fucked properly like this.

There were no words, especially not when Thatch began to grow impatient and picked up the pace, bit into the side of Deuce’s neck once again and anchored there, possessive and selfishly taking whatever it was that he desired in Deuce.

And Deuce _wanted_ him to. Let him. Craved more and more of their attention and touch, keening at the loss of Thatch’s fist wrapped tight around his cock in favor of grasping at his thigh again to better hold him open.

Everything was a haze of panted breaths, of heat, of Deuce’s mewls and whimpers and louder cries, shouts, _pleads_ for _there_ on almost every rub of shaft, head, to prostate. It was pressure like nothing else, _pleasure_ that threw the sensation of penetration and holding their position from his memory— there was only this, only them, only his body simultaneously begging for release and for this to never end. He felt fuller, far more stuffed to the brim and beyond capacity than he ever had in his life, and he had to let them know, had to convey somehow through his gurgled screams that this was exactly what he wanted.

 _You don’t get a choice_ , was what Deuce so badly needed to hear hissed into his ear to accompany the scratches of beard, the harsh panting of the two men fucking him, _you don’t get a say in what we do to you anymore._

 _You can have it_ , was his mentally sobbed response, what he would shout for them if they so desired, _you can have my body, my agency – it’s yours. Take it. Use it. Break it. Break **me**. _

_And let Ace be the one to put it all back together again._

Hands – not Thatch’s, not Marco’s – descended on him, drawing a shuddering, confused breath from him. Three new sets of hands. They tweaked at his nipples, skittered over his chest to dip down his abdomen, smearing in the mess of sweat, lube, come – god, Deuce had no idea what he was covered in anymore, it didn’t even _matter_. Someone took his cock in hand, causing him to jerk in Thatch and Marco’s hold, head rolling back over Thatch’s shoulder to expose his throat for his attackers.

They took the chance, two of them. Thatch latched on under his left ear, sucking at the delicate skin and scratching him with his beard, a sensation that Deuce was learning he _loved_. The other, who felt like, sounded like Anna, sunk her teeth into his right, mirroring Thatch in his attempt to raise yet another bruise on Deuce’s savaged neck.

The hand fisting his cock – Skull’s, Deuce gathered, given the hairy knuckles – twisted almost cruelly, yet it did nothing but raise a keening moan, a stutter of hips up into that touch only to be yanked back down onto the cocks fucking him.

Sonya, her golden hair falling like a curtain on leaning forward, kissed his cheek along with a harsh tug at his left nipple. He heard Thatch mutter something to her, heard him laugh and her sigh, but words failed to make sense anymore. There was nothing left but overstimulated nerves. Nothing outside of his orgasm coiling and tightening, that bright light building in the back of his eyes, almost there, almost on the brink of no return and fuck everything it was going to be the most intense one of his whole life, he could _taste it_ —

A senseless, helpless sound escaped him on Thatch biting his earlobe hard enough to get him to focus. Words flowed, but they took time to mean anything through the exhaustion, the need for release, the pain–pleasure that was ceaseless.

“Let’s see what Deuce _really_ looks like when he comes.”

It didn’t make sense. Not at first. Had they not seen him do just that _four_ times tonight? What, had they all looked away at the very last moment? He couldn’t parse the sentence, couldn’t see the information that the others took for granted, all nods and smiles and leering on Marco’s part.

Without warning (or rather, warning that Deuce could understand), Thatch’s forefinger hooked into the corner of his mask.

“Don’t,” Deuce gasped, shaking at the cusp of no return, body screaming for release amid the tirade of sheer terror that Thatch’s daring brought, “don’t take it off, please, _Thatch_ , please don’t—”

“Now is that a _please don’t but actually go ahead_ kinda thing,” Thatch growled into his ear, hoisting his legs up higher, wider to his startled cry, teeth snagging his lobe again and causing him to heave a sob, “or is it a _I’m about to use the safe word_ situation?”

They knew without him having to confirm; felt the immediate effect of it had on his body, hole clenching to grip their cocks most greedily, cock twitching in Skull’s hand to smear pre–come over his fingers. Deuce was fine – he could take being unmasked. He _could._

Satisfied, Thatch grunted his pleasure into an open–mouthed kiss at Deuce’s neck. “Marco was right,” he huffed, teeth teasing the promise of a bite, one that Deuce tilted for, better exposing, inviting, earning a kiss in return from Anna at his other side, “there really _isn’t_ anything you’ll say no to.”

With a flick of his wrist the mask was removed and tossed over Marco’s shoulder, rendering Deuce _bare._

He was caught, held, vulnerable and starkly _bare._

Bare for them to see the precise details of his collapse on his face – how his brows knitted tight over eyes wide and unseeing, focused on something beyond physical presence. How his mouth hung open in a silent scream, chin lifting on his head tilting back, every muscle in his chest, abdomen, legs – all of it, everything, right down to his toes, _contracting_ and coiling—

The intensity of his orgasm shook him to his core, spurting hot and sticky ropes over Marco’s abdomen, Skull’s fist. But they didn’t stop just because his vision reduced to flashing lights and twinkling stars, because his body went rigid and his throat closed to stopper his breath – no, Thatch and Marco not only sped up, but they went _harder_.

Deuce choked on his own tongue, frantically grasping for _anyone_ in reach and settling on Skull’s thick bicep, Thatch’s elbow. Overloaded, fucked out, completely past his breaking point and _still_ they used him, pulled him between them, hissed his name and sweet praises to his ears that were deaf to anything other than the thrum of nerves assaulted beyond measure, well and truly over his capacity.

He let himself slip, at long, long last, right as Marco kissed him with a satisfied groan, coming thick and fast inside him. Thatch followed with a final hard snap of his hips, rolling through his climax with deep, lazy thrusts into Deuce’s abused, soaked body.

He let himself slip and utter Ace’s name for the first time that night.

Ace’s name.

His safe word.

… without meaning for it to be construed as such. Without really thinking of anything in his useless, used state, dazed and exhausted, sleep pulling at him from all the angles that the others weren’t. Mumbled into Marco’s skin, arms trembling where they were slung over strong shoulders, Deuce called weakly for his partner to come and comfort.

“All right,” Marco said quietly, pulling out of him as gently as he could, yet still eliciting a pained whine from Deuce, “I’ll get Ace. You did so well, darling. So well.”

A kiss to his forehead. Several kisses to his cheeks, his nose, the back of his neck, and then… nothing.

He couldn’t think beyond recognising the buzz of his body closing down under the prospect of sleep. Couldn’t even really begin to react to anything that was happening other than acknowledging that they were leaving, leaving, laying him down on his front to—

—to welcome warm, familiar fingers stroking along his spine. The bed dipped again, warmth radiating from the man beside him, and Deuce didn’t even need to look up to know that it was Ace.

Ace’s hand found his, sliding in warm to link their fingers together. It was too much effort to raise his face. His lungs felt burned out, body sated, mind blank now that Ace was here.

“I’m here,” Ace smiled, and Deuce could _feel_ the smile in his voice as much as he could the hand in his own, “it’s all over now, babe. You did so good.”

A damp towel touched to his back, yet Deuce barely flinched at the contact. His hair was carded from his face, tucked back behind his ear with intimate tenderness that seemed so out of place following on from the most intense fuck of his life.

“I’ll clean you up,” Ace said gently, wiping the soft, fluffy towel over the swell of Deuce’s ass, dipping between sore cheeks, “so don’t worry about anything. Just sleep now. Let me take care of you.”

But that wasn’t what he wanted. That wasn’t how he wanted to finish off the night at all.

“Ace,” Deuce croaked, and ah, even talking now took too much effort, and even opening his eyes to catch the concerned, caring expression on Ace’s freckled features seemed like the most mammoth of tasks, “be my last.”

A huff of a laugh; a touch of fingers to his face, cupping his cheek.

“Sure,” Ace indulged, “if you can stay awake for the next five minutes.”

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

“Ace?”

“Hm?”

But he couldn’t find the words. Everything had come to a grinding halt. There was nothing in him to succinctly sum up what he wanted to say, to describe how his heart ached for Ace following on from… from everything. His gratitude; his love. How sorry he was, yet how _proud_ he felt to have done it. How he longed to assure Ace that he still, as ever, only belonged to him.

Because it was always Ace.

It would only ever be Ace for as long as he lived.

And so Deuce fell asleep, passing out to the gentle press of Ace’s lips to his temple.

* * *

The first thing he was aware of on waking was how warm he was, tucked under a thick white blanket. The second was how light it was, meaning he had slept for… how long, exactly?

And the third, on turning with a groan, was Ace lying beside him, head propped up in his hand, elbow shoved into pillow.

“Morning,” Ace said quietly, smiling at Deuce as if he had never seen anything quite so beautiful in all his life. And Deuce, in return, felt very much the same way about Ace in that moment - in any moment. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Deuce replied, leaning into the touch extended to his cheek, closing his eyes to the familiar heat that danced along Ace’s fingers, “I was out like a light.”

“How do you feel?”

That was a good question. He felt _heavy_ , he supposed, like all of his muscles had decided to stop working for a while and take a break, weighing him down and leaving him virtually immobile. Ace seemed to understand - Ace always understood the unspoken signs and cues from his boyfriend.

“You were incredible last night.”

The words, though they shouldn’t, caught Deuce off guard, left him blinking and open-mouthed at the blunt broach to the subject.

“I’m sorry.”

Ace snorted, though not an unkind sound. “What for?” He scooted closer, tucking his arm under Deuce’s neck to wrap around him like he favored, like how they would cuddle whenever time was on their side and they found the opportunity to simply _be_ with one another. With his other hand he tangled fingers into the back of Deuce’s hair, something that Deuce knew to be a kind of comfort for him, something grounding. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Ace breathed, relaxing when Deuce found the strength to move an arm enough to sling it over his waist, “you were brilliant, babe.”

The words - the reason - came easy, easier than they had presented themselves the night before in the midst of the sweat, the arousal, the copious amounts of bodily fluids and lube and— “It was only ever supposed to be you,” Deuce said heavily, pressing in nose to nose, forehead to forehead, heart to heart. “There was never supposed to be anyone but you.”

Tilting to angle better, Ace kissed him slowly, meaningfully, taking his time to simply feel the gentle press of lips to lips. Accompanied by the brush of warm fingers to his cheek that dipped to encourage him into the kiss more fully (not that Deuce could ever require _anything_ to give his whole to Ace, to give everything he possessed), Deuce softened to the delicate touch. He kissed back with the same tenderness, the same languidness where time seemed to still for them.

On opening his eyes he met silver, bright not with possessive energy nor excitement, but with honest, wholehearted love.

“Do you love any of them?”

Deuce frowned. “Who?”

“The guys from last night.”

“Oh.” A snort of laughter. “No.”

“Then—” another soft kiss; a small shift of Ace’s knee encouraging Deuce to part his own, to let him slide in ever closer, “—what seems to be the problem?”

He didn’t want to have to spell it out, but it was going to eat him alive if it didn’t. “I had sex with _six_ other people.” He waited for Ace’s reaction; there was none. “And you’re still okay with that?”

“I told you before we even started,” Ace smiled gently, knocking his forehead to Deuce’s, “sex is just sex. It’s all good. It was hot, watching you get completely annihilated by everyone.” He bit back a laugh at Deuce’s exasperated, embarrassed sigh. “It was! Although,” a small frown tugged at his handsome features suddenly, sending a prickle of fear down into Deuce’s stomach, “I didn’t know Marco intended to ride you like that. I didn’t like that much.”

“Why not?” Deuce asked, genuinely curious. “Why that out of everything?”

“Dunno.” Ace scrunched up his face in an exaggerated grimace. “It looked good - you pulled the most _amazing_ face when you came - but…” Without warning he dipped down to bury his face into Deuce’s neck, breath panting hot to his collarbone. “No one else is allowed to have you like that.”

It was Deuce’s turn to card his fingers through Ace’s thick hair, frowning at it despite how Ace’s words made his heart clench with fierce adoration. “But they’re allowed to have my ass?” God, even _saying_ it made him cringe.

“That’s different,” was Ace’s muffled reply, “I can pretend it’s me fucking you in those situations. I liked watching you from an outsider’s perspective; made me appreciate the things I don’t usually notice, y’know?”

In theory, yes. “And that doesn’t apply when I’ve got my dick in someone?”

“Nope.”

Great.

“So then, if it bothered you,” Deuce said slowly, pressing a kiss to the top of Ace’s head by way of pause, “maybe sex isn’t _just_ sex after all.”

Ace tensed up against him all of a sudden, and Deuce did his best to soothe that tension back out of his partner. He never learned, did he? Never learned to just keep his deeper thoughts to himself and spare Ace’s feelings.

“Nothing’s changed, as I promised.” Ace said eventually, raising his face again, and Deuce could see that no, he wasn’t lying, and yes, everything really was okay. “If anything, I’m just really proud of you for letting yourself do this. Well, except now all I wanna do is override what they did to you.”

Deuce grimaced despite how his body responded without hesitation, eagerly ready to take Ace up on his offer regardless of how flat-out exhausted he still was. “And how would you do that?” Deuce teased, cocking an eyebrow at Ace’s slow-growing grin.

Lips met his again, a faint trace of urgency bubbling under the deliberate, controlled calm with which Ace moved against him. Ah, he _loved_ it when Ace held back - it just made the inevitable burst of passion that much sweeter.

“Would fuck you real nice and slow,” Ace whispered to the side of Deuce’s mouth, pulling him in closer so that they were chest to chest again - Ace’s heartbeat was rapid, feverish— “have you on your front, couple’a pillows under your hips…” A pronounced shiver thrilled through Deuce at Ace’s fingertips trailing featherlight down his side under the blanket, coming to rest at the base of his spine and press sure, possessive to his skin. “But before that I’d pull you apart,” Ace continued, kissing Deuce’s jawline to the soft circle he spun at his back, drawing a sigh from his boyfriend, “would lick you open just how you like… slide one, two, three fingers inside you and—” He illustrated by crooking his fingers to push into Deuce’s spine, eliciting another shiver, the faintest of whimpering moans. “Yeah,” Ace breathed, looking pleased with himself, “and you’d react somethin’ like that.”

He wanted that now; to simply lie and let Ace do all the work for his aching body, his dazed mind… It sounded like total bliss to Deuce. And Ace was getting hard against him, swelling and lifting to nudge hot against Deuce’s thigh, grinding forward to slide up along his own thickening erection—

“But not today,” Ace chirped happily, slapping a palm to Deuce’s ass and making him jump violently, “not this morning, anyway. I’m gonna get you some breakfast, get your strength back up.”

Not a violent person by nature, Deuce found himself wanting to strangle Ace as he hauled himself out of bed, bright and happy and half-hard. “You _bastard_ ,” Deuce growled, resigning himself to his bedrest forced about by the scream of protest his body assaulted him with the moment he attempted to follow after Ace.

“ _Your_ bastard,” Ace sing-songed, pulling his shorts on with a hop, “your bastard who you love so much you’d— oh!” He clicked his fingers, suddenly remembering something, his mouth a perfect, comical circle, “right, before I forget! That pill you took!”

Oh, no. He was about to learn it had done something gigantically awful, wasn’t he? It had turned him feral and he had forgotten, perhaps, or maybe he’d blacked out at some point and agreed to have things done to him that he would otherwise decline, or—

“I asked Marco if he could heal it out of you after you fell asleep,” Ace said, pulling on a boot as Deuce navigated the almighty task of sitting up, abdomen and back muscles protesting vehemently. “I know I said at the start that it probably wouldn’t be doable, but there’s no harm in asking, right? So he puts his hands on you, does his thing, and goes _there’s nothing to heal_. I know,” Ace nodded at Deuce opening his mouth to remind him that yeah, that was as much as they had suspected, “I _know_ , and that’s what I said. But then he goes like _there’s nothing in him that shouldn’t be, other than wine_. And that’s when I said _yeah and come—”_

“Nothing?” Deuce echoed, “as in… _nothing_ nothing, or nothing that he could…”

“As in,” Ace beamed, looking horribly, _thoroughly_ pleased with himself, pleased with Deuce, “we blew all our money on a shitty sugar pill, and everything you did - everything you felt - was entirely down to you.”

Deuce snorted an incredulous laugh. “There’s no way,” he dismissed, running his hands through his wild mess of hair matted from sweat - he _really_ needed a proper wash, “I felt it; it was like electricity in my skin. It kept me hard for Sonya, and after Marco.”

“Marco says it was all you,” Ace said brightly, “you didn’t take anything that could affect you like that. A few gulps of wine wouldn’t have done anything to you; we both know you need way more than that to feel it, and even then you just fall asleep, so…” His smile turned wicked, his teeth bared and _proud_. “All you, babe.”

All him. All Deuce under the influence of his own mind, pulled along by the moment, the heat, the passion… and not something guiding him in any which way.

“That’s…” He paused, thinking, allowing Ace the time needed to crawl back onto the bed and slide in close and warm. “That’s just _rude_ ,” he landed on, balling his fists (and wow, even they ached). “That fucker took all our money!”

“Ah, yeah, he did,” Ace agreed, although he didn’t sound nearly half as mad as Deuce felt, “but nevermind, money’s just money—”

“He must have thought we were complete idiots!”

“We _are_ complete idiots,” Ace pointed out reasonably. Before Deuce could continue with his fury, Ace pulled him in by the chin to kiss him soundly, silencing any and all thoughts of that shopkeeper and the pill. “Stay here and let me get you breakfast,” he repeated, yet he made no moves to leave again. Instead, Ace cuddled up to Deuce and ran his fingers through his hair, laying his head on his shoulder.

Not that Deuce minded. He could ignore the protest his stomach wailed, choosing instead to wrap an arm around Ace’s shoulders and hold him close. He could forego just about anything if it saw him getting more time to simply be with his partner.

“You didn’t get to come,” Deuce said, suddenly veering back to how the evening had ended, “that’s not exactly fair.”

“I did,” Ace replied, taking Deuce’s hand to link their fingers atop of the sheets, “all over your back.”

Deuce frowned. “With everyone watching?”

“Yup.” Ace raised his head and grinned, poking a forefinger to the furrow of Deuce’s brow. “Don’t you dare get jealous, you hypocrite. No one touched me.”

“I’m not jealous,” Deuce huffed. No – the thought of anyone else watching Ace reach his peak, make that _gorgeous_ face that he did when he came, certainly did not make Deuce twinge with fierce protectiveness. Not at all. Not that he had a leg to stand on if that had been the case, anyway.

His face was turned with a finger to his chin; lips met his in a soft, warming kiss. “As good as it was,” Ace said softly, “as much as I enjoyed myself… I’m looking forward to having you all to myself again, like normal.”

“Tonight?” Deuce said a little too quickly, a little too readily for how much he ached, how hard his body protested his enthusiasm.

Ace hummed in thought. “Maybe tomorrow night,” he settled on, kissing Deuce’s cheek on his expression dropping into something sad, “we’ll spend today in bed; we’ve rented this room out until tomorrow morning, just in case. The whole day, just you and me and as much food as I can bring back. No sex. You can read Brag Men to me again if you like.”

Yes, Deuce _did_ like. “It’s in my bag,” he said, nodding to their heap of possessions dropped lazily beside the couch, “do you want to start now?”

“Breakfast first,” Ace said, his tone none-negotiable, “and then cuddles and stories. Sound good?”

It sounded better than good.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm now on [my new Tumblr account](https://chromiwrites.tumblr.com/) if you want to come say hi! I am still open for prompts or a chat, as ever.
> 
> Comments and kudos let me know if I'm doing something right, and I always love your feedback!


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